


sail

by lanfan



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanfan/pseuds/lanfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> Sometimes, Sinbad thinks about running away.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	sail

**Author's Note:**

> moving some of my drabbles from tumblr onto AO3 for organization's sake.

Sometimes as Sinbad lays in his bed, legs sprawled over the edge to make room for lovers, he thinks about leaving. He imagines picking himself up one day and stealing a boat, disappearing and exploring the world again, free of any responsibility besides filling his own stomach.

“If I asked you to run away with me, would you do it?” He rolls over to look at Ja’far, curled up beside him. The man is skillfully covered by silk sheets, eyes trained on the ceiling. It takes him a moment to answer, a weary sigh escaping his bruised lips.

“Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Then let’s go.” Ja’far feels him staring but doesn’t acknowledge it; fingers twitching slightly for wires that had been pried off hours ago (Sinbad didn’t allow weapons in his bed after a particular incident that involved him strung from the ceiling).

“Even if leaving makes me a bad person?”

“I already think you’re a bad person,” he quips, closing his eyes. Sinbad appreciates the sight, watching unabashed, because it takes so much to get Ja’far to this point. Calm enough to close his eyes and forget about peace treaties or the two cups of wine warming Sinbad’s stomach or Magis and empires. It reminds him of days traveling across deserts, a young assassin covered in beige cloaks to escape the sun, openly scowling and snapping at every movement Sinbad made. And he aches for it sometimes, feels the need for open air rattle his bones, and sometimes he feels he will suffocate under the weight of his people, eager and loving.

But then he watches Sharrkan and Yamuraiha bicker about nothing at all and Pisti make wreaths of flowers under the palm trees with Alibaba and he remembers this is worth it. The loss of his freedom (because what is an open sky but the freedom to make mistakes that only affect yourself) is worth seeing his country thrive and his people smile.

“Tell me I’m making a difference here,” Sinbad says, rolling over to nibble on Ja’far’s earlobe. The noise of annoyance that keens out of his throat is endearing when Ja’far allows himself to be touched, craning his neck slightly in the other direction.

“You are,” he rolls his eyes. “And one day, you’ll defeat Al-Sarmen and the abnormalities of the world and all else that crosses your path.”

“I want to carve my mark in this world before I leave it; I want to be the story mothers tell their children before bed.”

“You’re quite infamous already,” he sniffs, lifting an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Ja’far.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he mumbles, allowing himself to be pulled under to a smatter of kisses across his ribcage.


End file.
